Girls, Girls, Girls
by wikipedias
Summary: AU. Cameron Fisher has it made. He’s a part of the basketball AND soccer team. He has four best friends he thinks he can rely on and his social status is high enough to warrant ‘popular’. The one problem, though, is that he can’t get laid. Poor guy — Clam
1. I Can't Write You a Love Song

**Title: **Girls, Girls, Girls**  
Fandom:** Clique**  
Genre:** T. Well, some_what _of a T. I dunno.  
**Chapter: **One (I Can't Write You A Love Song…I Don't Know How.)**  
Summary: **AU. Cameron Fisher has it made. He's a part of the basketball AND soccer team. He has four best friends he thinks he can rely on and his social status is high enough to warrant 'popular'. The one problem, though, is that he can't get laid. Poor guy.**  
Inspirations: **Something Corporate's 'Punk Rock Princess'**  
Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Clique-related. All rights reserved for/to Lisi Harrison. Now go and heckle someone else.**  
Author's Note: **If any of you people care, which I'm sure you don't, I'm back with even more stories that I should start updating.

-

"You've been mangling that straw for over ten minutes, Cam. What's up?" Claire leans over to yank it out of my mouth, taking care to scrape it under my gums.

"Hey, hey, be careful with that," I grab her wrist, almost instantly hating myself for this sign of weakness; I wasn't supposed to touch her today! God, I could never go through Spanish now. Her stupidly perfect strawberry smell wafts over me, clinging like a second skin. I groan inwardly; I couldn't go through the entire _day _with this smell. It takes away my concentration, my mind and my common sense. Like I had enough before!

Claire rolls her eyes (bless them) and pulls her slim wrist out of my grip. "Okay, okay. Now tell me what's going on. You've been avoiding us—" she gestures to Massie, Derrick, Josh and Alicia "—all day. What gives?"

Massie stops texting on her iPhone long enough to give me her definition of the 'evil eye' – eyes narrowed, lips turned downwards at one corner – and a mouthed "If you tell, I'll kill," before returning to the screen. Apparently I can't confess unless she's nearby with a camera. She's trying to channel someone called Gossip Gal or something. Derrick just grins at me wolfishly before flicking his French fries onto his girlfriend's plate of organic vegetables. Massie doesn't notice and munches on the greasy fry absentmindedly. Nice, Harrington. Stay classy.

Alicia ignores both of us and continues texting Massie, even though _Massie is just opposite her. _Girls are so weird, I note for the thousandth time. Josh raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn't do anything else. I can't blame him, though. Having a 110lbs girl on your lap is no joke. Alicia can punch it away with the best of them.

Claire huffs at me again and I revert my attention back to my Queen…um, best friend. I swallow and, stupidly, fall prey to her blue eyes. Again. "Okay, okay. I'll tell. It's just that Harris is staying over and I was thinking of what to hide from him this time." It's not a lie, per _se, _and I mentally pat myself on the back. Lying apparently gives you a black tongue and 'visage'.

Claire's jaw drops when she hears the name Harris. I groan inwardly. How could I forget; Claire's…crush. She's known for having a very public unrequited crush on my older idiot of a brother.

"He's _coming_?! Now?! _Here_?!" She flaps around, mussing her side part (thanks to Massie for telling me what it's called). I sigh and get up from the table. I just lost my appetite. "I'm going. I've got some French homework to copy off." Now that I think of it, I really have no idea why I took French. Derrick said it'd be good for getting the 'ladeez'. Josh just did it because…well, I don't know why and I did it because…I don't know why either. Anyway, we found out later that the 'ladeez' are apparently as bad at French as we are so we can't exactly fake it anymore. Actually, they do the same things to attract boys. Which, you know, is pretty cool.

I pass Todd, Claire's freshman brother, as I shuffle away dejectedly from the table. Claire's still freaking out over Harris, Massie's flirting with Derrick and Josh is…doing something with Alicia. I don't even want to know. Todd bumps me on the shoulder. I half-smile in recognition. Without even greeting me, might I add, Todd simply says, "Dude, you're whipped."

I sigh but don't disagree. I _am _whipped. With a chain of idiocy and not the common whip of 'lurrrve'.

"Anyway, you going to that rager-thing on Friday?" Todd stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt, looking as relaxed as…my mom on her spa day. (I only know because she dragged me there! I wouldn't know otherwise!)

"Kemp's? Yeah, 'course; I live near him. Known him for almost as long as Der. Why? You're not going?"

"Nah. Got an invite but no girl." He looked back at our table and I felt a rush of affection towards Todd. We were in the same boat. "No, point, right?"

"Haha, yeah…"

Cue comfortable silence for a bit. We were walking towards the exit now.

"Massie, huh?"

Todd smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah...S'okay, though. She has Derrick."

I nodded. Derrick and Massie are like the IT couple of BOCD. Like Yin and Yang or something. There's no Massie without Derrick. Similar to the rule that no fries without ketchup. Or America without racists. It just _goes_.

"How about that girl you always hang around with…Alexandra something?"

"Brace-face?" Todd asks, surprised. "She's my best friend, dude, I couldn't ask her out. Besides, her boyfriend would kill me."

"She has a boyfriend?" Sadly, in this school, if you have braces or glasses or something, it's considered a miracle if you get lai – a significant other.

"Yeah. That football player," Todd points to a boulder with a bit of red fuzz nearby and I gulp. Well, how could you not?! His mere sizeis terrifying. "I don't get it either."

"Love is blind," I murmur. We reach the gates to infinity and beyond and I nod my head in farewell. "Stay strong, young Padawan."

"May the force be with you, Fishenobi."

Haha, yeah, I know what you're thinking. And, _no. _I am not a geek. We just used to play Star Wars: Battlefront together on PS2 together. Just for kicks. Really! And now it's like our personal catchphrase or something. (No worries on the social status thing, though. I'm on the soccer and basketball team.) Thanks to his height, wish I was that height, Todd goes off to his fellow freshmen friends and I go off towards…the vending machine. Seeing as I didn't eat lunch, Doritos are looking extremely tempting. And I don't want any of that chai latte garbage. Or raw fish muck. No offense, though, if that's your lemming. I fish out a dollar and stuff it in the machine, pressing the right buttons.

The machine starts up and _just _as the packet's getting out…It. Gets. Stuck. _Great. _I sigh and start kicking the machine. Common practice at BOCD. Kick it to jack it. More greatness, apparently; nothing's coming out except a couple of bolts and screws. Aw damn. Now it's broken! I rake my hair with my hands and let out a few good expletives. Feeling worse in…3…2…and—

"—hey, hey, relax there…black-haired boy," someone's amused voice pipes out from behind me. "They're just Doritos."

I turn my head towards the voice, intent on giving the person a good lecture on minding your own business but my mouth – and heart – stops. _Oh my God_. Oh my God. OH MY GOD. Angelina Jolie is behind me! Angelina Jolie is behind me! Angelina Jolie _talked _to me! Someone famous is in front of me!

Angelina Jolie smiles and says, "Hi, Cam. Remember me? Allie-Rose? We used to 'date'?" Cue air quotes.

I blink. Wait…Allie-Rose. Not Angelina Jolie. Allie-Rose. That name should mean something. Allie-Rose…hmm…oh yeah. She was in my middle school. And my elementary school. And…kindergarten. And I think we used to play together before…well. Damn. How could I forget this ra – girl?! I – discreetly – check her out and she laughs. "Done checking me out?"

I stutter something stupid (notice my awesome alliterations, why don't you?) and stick out my hand. "Hey, Al. What'cha doing here?" We used to be good friends, Allie-Rose and me. She used to help me scope out if Claire liked me in 'that way' and I used to help her talk to my teammates. Win-win situation. Dating sorta came with the territory of being her part-time bodyguard. There were some good freaks in middle school.

"Checking out my new school, CF."

"Uh – you're in this school?"

"Mm-hmm. My parents said skipping class was no longer an option. And that I should get something in my airhead. Apparently learning from a website doesn't mean that I can surf the internet and check out cute guys. It means that I should stare at a creepy old hag telling me how babies are made."

I laugh. Al was always the funnier one. The more opposite-sex-fanatic one but, still. The funnier one, too.

After a few minutes of bantering, I find out that she's been in boarding school, home school and internet school, all before the age of sixteen. Her parents are those people who always travel for no real reason but to be extremely rich and socialite-y while checking out fashion shows and Paris Hilton-parties. They settled down apparently and want to get another kid. Apparently 'petits enfants are in'. Too much information but let's pass that. We soon start on the topic of dating and she smiles sadly when I tell her about Claire.

I was hoping you'd finally be unattached, she says. I laugh embarrassedly, (like you wouldn't), and start saying, 'moving on' repetitively like that movie. That distracts her and we start the topic of favourite movies. (Again, you cannot go wrong with cult classics. Or Men in Black, for that matter.)

Ten minutes later and we're sitting on the cold floor, arm to arm, laughing insanely about something that I can't even remember anymore. "Oh God, Cam, I missed you." She suddenly hugs me and I can do nothing but hug her back. (Wh_a_t? I _am_ a guy.)

The bell rings and we spring apart, identical half-guilty/half-floaty looks on our faces. I repeat, still a guy! A four-headed shadow casts over us and we stare up at the giant. Aw crap. Massie, looking disgusted. Derrick, mouthing "You can finally get laid now!" Alicia, copying Massie with the disgusted look (even though she liked Allie). Josh, well, he moved towards some of his other friends after kissing Alicia on the cheek (Ew) and Claire. Claire. Claire, looking like she could cry and hit me at that very moment.

Oh God. Oh God. Aw crap. I'm not _that _ugly, am I?

-


	2. No Fucking Way Out

**Title: **Girls, Girls, Girls**  
Chapter: **Two (No Fucking Way Out of This)  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Clique-related. All rights reserved for/to Lisi Harrison.  
**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the reviews! Sorry I can't reply to any of them because I _really _have to pack but I wanted to post this up first. I'm going to Singapore and Malaysia for a week so…well, yeah. Sorry for the lateness again =S (I'm posting that anyway to _prove _that I've actually done anything. In reality, I'm back from both cities/countries and I…am doing stuff. And writing.)

**- **

You know what? I really hate French class. I really hate the French language. I would hate French people but then I wouldn't have anything to stare at during that Harry Potter movie. But, still. French sucks. And not because it's difficult (well, yeah) but because of my stupid teacher who just _has _to make everyone sit in alphabetical order or she'll "just die," or something. Well, whatever. She's still a mean old hag who can't get laid.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not racist towards them or anything. There are tons of French models out there! And their food is awesome when it's not consisted of snails or some shit like that. But…it's just that this teacher can make even the smallest verb or the most useless phrase 'tres difficulte' or whatever it is.

Gah. Just looking at the word 'amore' on my paper makes me sick. What the hell does it even mean? More of the letter 'a'? I lay my head on the desk and the idiot opposite me in the right aisle snickers. I contemplate whether the flipping the bird to him would give me a detention. I decide not to risk it. Not worth it.

Thanks to this hag, I have to sit with this loser with the last name Ford (hahaha) who won't let me copy of him! This worksheet involves _thinking _and he won't let me copy! What kind of sick person is that?! I'm in the freaking basketball and soccer team! You don't reject someone in _two _jock-teams! I even tried telling him that I could hook him up with Kristen, the sportsaholic/cheerleader girl, if he let me copy and you know what the bastard did? He refused! WHAT KIND OF PERSON REFUSES A BASKETBALL AND SOCCER PLAYER?

So, anyway, that brings me to the conclusion that I'm sitting next to a homosexual. There's nothing wrong with that, of course not. But still. He won't be getting laid in _this _school anymore. Like he even did before, though, haha. I'll make—or beg—Massie to take care of this. In the back of my mind, I vaguely understand that this is wrong and that I shouldn't bother with a loser with a name like Ford but fuck it, I'm fifteen, I can't drive and I'm in love with my best friend. I don't _need _a moral.

Trying to block out the image of a teary Claire who's avoiding me like the plague, I continue swearing at him under my breath while alternately looking at the clock above the blackboard. Half an hour left. Damn. Daaammmnnnn. Daaaaaammmmmnnn.

"Hey, shut up, will ya? I'm trying to excel at school," Loser Ford leans towards me.

I lean away. I forgot I tended to speak aloud when I was frustrated. "You shut up, you…ugly racist."

"Hey, _I'm _Caucasian!"

"Madame Langille! Ford was being racist!" I quickly turn around to drag snoring Kemp into this. Literally. He wakes up with a snort and, right on cue, "It's true! I saw it—" I quickly slap my hand on his mouth. If he finishes that sentence, she'll find out he's talking about his most recent porno 'break'.

The hag gets up slowly, hopefully from extremely old age, and walks towards me. "_How _was Gregory being racist towards you, hmm, Cameron? I don't tolerate discrimination of any kind, you know."

He has a first name? Freaky. "He said that I should shut up because he was a Caucasian, Madame, and that he had every right to do so."

The class glares at Loser Ford. I bless their hearts.

She wrinkles her nose at us—gross—and looks Loser Ford up and down—even grosser. "Is this true, Gregory?"

He's opening and closing his mouth at me—like a goldfish!—while I stare him down, silently _challenging _him to retaliate.

A loud knock on the door and our pens are down, our attention is diverted once again and we're all staring at Heaven. YES! I LOVE YOU, DOOR KNOCKER! LOVE YO—but then I look closer and…well, damn. It's Allie-Rose. 'I don't love you in that way!', I feel like shouting at her. But then that'd get me weird looks. Looking down to avoid eye contact, I realize that my right hand is still clamped on Kemp's mouth and I groan. Along with being a sex-starved, porn-addicted infamous joker/prankster, and my friend, he's also a drooler.

I wipe my hand on his unopened notebook and continue to stare at­—oh gross. Goldfish Loser Ford's still being a nerd but now he's staring at Al like he's looking at…well, someone hot. But he's a nerd! He shouldn't even realize that the opposite sex exists! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?!

Al takes a step inside and then takes in the class of ten staring at her, some of the guys in lust, and some of the girls in 'Bitch, I will _cut _you' glares. Al flips her hair and takes it all in. Her lips curve upwards and she's looking _very _much like Angelina Jolie without the butt-lips. Good thing that Jolie was never my 'thing', I chuckle. My conscience reminds me that I basically squealed over her before lunch and I tell him to shut up. Oh great, now I talk to myself. Sitting with Goldfish Loser Ford is having a horrible influence on me.

"Um, Miss…Langil?" Al asks hesitantly, her eyes staring at the blue slip the general office uses to let us off free. Well, at least I _think _it is. It could be a phone bill or something. I mean…I dunno. A doctor's note? Homework? Oh, I know! It's an electricity bill. My conscience slaps me upside the head and I fight the urge to break into a fight with my brain. Great, now my sense is gone as well as my looks! I don't want to end up like Kemp, I inwardly wail.

"Mrs. Lan_gil_le, child! Repeat after me, Lan_gille_, with a 'jill'!" Mrs. Langy sure can shriek, I, along with the entire class, wince. But hopefully it'll make Loser Ford next to me deaf. Haha, deaf loser. Awesome. It'd normally be a bad thing but I'm not _that _sadistic and since its nerdy Fordy, who cares right?

"Uh, yeah, whatever," Al tosses her hair again without a care in the world and every single guy—apart from me, of course—exhales. It's like a movie, I muse, looking everywhere. The hot girl silencing the dudes and shunning the girls. Weird. "Anyway, Mrs. L, I'm supposed to get a Cameron to see the principal." She avoids my surname and I can't help be relieved.

But then…damn. The male hag wants to see me. I prepare myself for my usual 'I didn't do anything!' excuse but then realize that I really _didn't _do anything. So then what the heck is she doing? I stare at her questioningly but she doesn't even look at me. Well. Fine. Don't look! Not like I wanted you to look anyway. I resolve to ignore the next time I see her, past relationship be damned.

The old hag looks at me with her glasses down on her bony nose and I quickly look away to avoid eye contact. I heard that it attracts the vultures to the corpse or something. "Mr. Fisher?"

Snickers all round. Yeah, yeah, very funny. My surname has the word 'fish' in it. Real funny, right. Fisherman jokes now. Haha, hilarious, Kemp. You made that one up yourself, did you? Impressive cod. I thought you were asleep anyway, fu—"Yes, Mrs. Lan_gil_le?"

"Out. Now." She points to Al with her bony arm and I can only get up, kick the nerdy Fordy's chair leg and walk outside. Walk outside to freedom would be more like it but, like Prison Break, that's virtually impossible in this world. Instead I'm walking towards the principal's office. And Allie-Rose's ecstatic grin.

What a wonderful life I have.

Al pulls me out before I can even reach the door and slams it in the hag's beak-face. "Busted you out, baby!" She tosses her arms in the air and expects me to join in or something.

"_What_."

(Well, what would your answer be if a gorgeous girl busts you out of class for no absolute reason, _just_ before I get a guy—correction: Goldfish Loser Ford—in trouble?)

She frowns at my response and drags me somewhere. "Honestly, Fisher, I'm saving your ass and all you can do is say something like 'what'? Ugh. You chav."

I dig my manly heels into the ground. "I'm a _what_, now?" She responds with dragging me into a wall, her safely out of the way, of course. Damn, that girl has some meat on her.

"_Chav_. Something I learnt in London. Never knew what it meant, though…"

"And you use it on me?"

"I don't know what you are either."

"Haha, very funny, Singer. Now where the hell are you taking me?" She drags me into another wall in another response. Great. Physical pain added to emotional pain. Just what I needed.

"I dunno. Anywhere. Somewhere private's cool," She barely glances at me, just continues charging on ahead looking around.

"Um…janitor's closet?" If it'll stop her dragging me around, I'll mention the—no, wait, I won't. Even I'm not _that _desperate.

"Perf!"

I can't even ask her what the hell that word means because, wow, I'm slammed sideways into a wall _again _due to her speed. Fucking great.

"Don't swear," She throws me a look. And because she's throwing me a look that could 'kill', she doesn't see where she's going. And because she doesn't see where she's going, she crashes into another wall—how many walls are there?!—and falls on top of me. Whether it's because of rebound or whatever—physics can kiss my ass—she's laying on top of me and the school bell starts ringing.

I curse the school bell to oblivion and try to shift Al off of me; if Claire catches me in this…position, I'm a dead mofo. As if I wasn't before.

As the river of teenager gushes, and Allie-Rose won't even _try_ to get off of me (ignore the innuendo, please), I vow to spend the next ten years as a ninja, honing my skills until one day I can kill everyone who crossed me. Derrick could be my sidekick, Massie the boss-lady, Alicia, the resident slut/assassin and Josh, the cool nerd or something. Claire would be the leading lady, obviously, and after I'd destroyed the creator of school, she'd fall onto my sweaty chest and declare her love towards me and I'd smirk and kiss her and…—"Cam, what the fuck are you doing?"

I open my eyes and holy shit, my lips are connected to Al's. I pull away and shove her off of me.

She looks happy-glazed and I looked shocked and the local school gossip queen-wannabe, Dylan Marvil, looks ecstatic.

Just fucking _great_.

-

**(Obligatory) Author's Note:** Just a quick explanation: I _know _fifteen year old males and they have the filthiest mouths ever so I apologize if the swearing bothers you or something. Also, I'd like to take this time to thank—the Academy, haha—Cela Fille for nominating 'I'm Sorry But I'm Not in Love with You'. I know I won't win but, still. That's still my favourite story I've ever written :D (/wannabe-conceited)


	3. Fairwell to the Schoolground

**Title: **Girls, Girls, Girls**  
Chapter: **Farewell to the Schoolground.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Clique-related. All rights reserved for/to Lisi Harrison.

**-**

"You may leave now, Mr. Fisher," Mr. Don waves me away with his pen, still intent on staring at his computer's screen. I sigh and get up. This has to be, by far, the most stupidest way to spend a lesson time. And I'm counting that time I had to babysit the middle school midgets for a week.

"Bye, sir," I mumble as I struggle with the doorknob. Idiot thing. I finally crack it open and yank it, intent on killing myself with my Swiss knife.

He nods again and then calls to 'come in, Ms. Singer'. She's outside, sitting on the benches but she doesn't even look at me before sauntering into the room. I shrug and walk out. It didn't matter anymore if she never spoke to me again. I mean, yeah, it would hurt. Until I didn't care anyway. But I'd get over it. Like everything else. Besides, she'd already yelled at me for 'playing with her feelings' and God-knows-what. That's payment for accidentally kissing her, that is.

But then the familiar feeling of feeling like an idiot washes over me and I sigh, rubbing my neck unconsciously. I hate that feeling. Especially when it's for another trip to the principal office; this time for indecency in the hallway. My dad would fucking neuter me after he came back from who-the-fuck-knows-where.

Great. Now I'm mad at my father! If I was a comic book character, I'd have a lot of symbols and asterisks over my head right now...

Derrick's leaning on the receptionist's desk as I slouch out of Don's hallway. His arms are crossed and he has a very uncharacteristic 'grim' expression on his face. The receptionist's out on her lunch break so he's already taken the liberty of swiping two hall passes.

"What?" I've almost never seen him look so serious. One of the last times I _did_ was when Massie broke up with him back in middle school and the other was when his mom took away his bike for breaking her china but that's it. Derrick's always been a goof that has no emotion other than 'horny' or 'party'. Sometimes he has a 'oh fuck it' mood but usually it's the other two.

After a minute of silence with the just the sounds of us breathing, "Dude, you messed up," is all he says before reaching over and cuffing me on the head.

"_Ow_! What the hell was that for?!"

"Claire was crying like mad the last time I saw her." He shoves his hands in his pockets and motions that we should walk.

Claire's always crying, I feel like saying but I don't. I _do _love her, tears and all. Plus that would count as insensitive and mean. And Cameron Fisher is neither of those things. Instead I ask why.

The look on his face is priceless. Mouth hung to his neck and eyebrows fully up. I take a picture of it with my Samsung.

The flash gets his attention. "Fuck that, Fisher. You don't know _why_?"

I shake my head. I know that that in the back of mind it's something to do with Al and me in the hall but I don't wanna bring it up. Pure guilt and cowardice stops me.

"Because of your fucking make out with Massie's sworn enemy? _Claire_'s sworn enemy? Hell, even Alicia's sworn enemy."

"I didn't even know they hated Allie!"

Derrick scoffs but he agrees with me. Neither did he. "I dunno but Massie told me to never to speak to you again. Alicia told me to tell you to jump from a cliff and Claire, well, she was in the washroom. But I heard her mutter 'bitch Allie-Rose' a lot before she left.

"How does she even _know _I kissed Al?"

"Dude, you're asking _me_."

"Point taken." He's so out of the gossip loop, it's even funny.

We walk around the school for a bit, neither of us wanting to head back to class.

"So…now what?"

"I dunno, man. It's your head on…what was that shit we learnt in History? The thing with the French?"

"The guillotine?"

"You mean the head chop thing?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yeah, that."

"Oh." I sigh and looked at my phone. "It's 2.37. Screw it, I'm going home, man."

"So soon?"

"Eh, not up to a half hour of Claire hating me and Massie wanting to destroy me." I don't even remember which class I had now. Girls have officially ruined me.

Derrick understands. We pass by his locker which gave him perfect tame to take out his 'special bag'—a wonderful bag full of fake doctors' notes, parents' letters and a trusty thermometer—and pull out a blue note:

_Dear teacher,_

_My ____ cannot continue ___ lessons after lunch as ___ has to meet the doctor for a foot fungus check up. I am sorry for the inconvenience. _

_Mrs.­_____

_PS: Feel free to call this number (_____) if any difficulties arouse. _

I grin at Derrick. I knew I was friends with him for a reason. "Thanks, dude. But…foot fungus?"

"Make up something disgusting and you get extra days off. Just make sure you put in a fake number there. Like Pizza Hut's or something. Also, remember to rub off the underlines. And re-write everything else in pen. Be sure to change your handwriting." In anything but school, Derrick was a fucking Albert Newton or some shit.

"Done." We slap hands goodbye. Derrick takes out his Zune and goes off somewhere and I 'stumble' my way down to the general office. Ten minutes and a confused clerk later, I'm free! Home free! I take out my phone again and _damn_, school was out in twenty minutes. No wonder the clerk was saying there was no point. Ah fuck it.

I decide to walk back home. I'd rather die than ask Harris or my parents for a lift. First they'd ask me why I was out of school, then they'd—or at least, Mom—would force me to gulp down some aspirin and check my temperature. My dad would probably yell himself hoarse—provided he was around of course—and Harris would just encourage my behaiviour. Typical Fisher family drama.

Passing the school on foot sucks, I curse ten minutes later. Already two little girls had trampled my feet with their tricycles, one dog tried to bite me and some girl tried to get me to have sex with her! SEX?! I'M A FUCKING VIRGIN WHO CAN'T DRIVE AND IS IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND WHO NOW HATES FOR NO FUCKING REASON! SEX, MY FUCKING FOOT.

-

Hours later, I wake up to the sound of scratching. Creepy scratching. I look around my room. No, my cat wasn't here (which would be a miracle or some shit seeing as Bear was dead for five years). Neither was Harris. I look around my room _properly_—this time without the hair and sand in my eyes. The sounds are coming from my windows. "Oh shit," I whisper.

Without my fucking mind working thanks to girls ruining it, I forget that it's _Claire _who makes scratching noises against the side of my window with a rake. And only when it's an emergency. I jump off my bed and trip slightly over my clothes. The first thing I notice when I get to the window is that Claire's running away. She's actually fucking _speed-walking _away from my house.

I quickly open the window, vault over it and immediately fall into the convenient bush underneath. The fuck. Stupid beetle climbing over me. I crush it with a convenient rock and jump up again.

"Claire! Claire, _wait_!" I whisper-shout. Great, now I sound like a pussy. She doesn't even bother looking back and I'm still wearing superman boxers. I sigh and put all that stupid training for basketball/soccer to use. I remember all the drills Coach put us through and start running towards Claire. I don't _want _to remember them.

I'm finally catching up with her. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her to me—this would be a great kiss moment, I automatically think—and then she slaps me. She fucking _slaps _me.

It's not like a movie slap, with my face fully turning to the side and Claire sobbing her heart out and saying that I'm cheating on her. No, it's even more unbelievable. Instead, _she's _the one reeling back like I slapped her and _she's _the one staring at her hand like it's the first time she's seen one.

And like the pussy I've become, I take a step back. My usually husky and sexy voice comes out as a strangled whisper. "The _fuck_?"

Automatically she snaps, "Don't swear,"

I just look at her. The fucking _fuck_—the girl of my dreams just slapped me. She just hit me. And not painfully either. It's just…the _fuck_.

We just stare at each other for a few minutes. I don't know what else to do. I don't know this Claire, I don't know why she slaps me, I don't know why she's so mad—I just…I don't know _anything_. Not after this.

Claire looks at me this look that can only be described as…speculative? Her large blue eyes are shiny with un-sobbed—the word 'shed' is stupid—tears and her mouth is quivering. Before this slap, I had this insane urge to kiss her but right now I just wanted to shake and yell at her.

"I would say I'm sorry for slapping you, C-Cam, but…I'm not,"

Now _I _want to slap her.

"…why do you like Allie-Rose, Cam?"

Okay, _now, _I just want to bonk her on the head with something bonk-able. And not in the _other _way either. "You just _hit_ me and you're expecting me to answer your question?"

I glare at her—she may be the girl of my dreams but she's being a bloody idiot right now.

That's when Mother Nature chooses to remind us that it's October with her almighty wind. I curse myself for wearing a gray t-shirt and Claire tugs her oversized sweater around her.

"Cam, I _hit _you because you…you…ugh, why do you like Allie-Rose?! Because she's prettier?" And then Claire covers her mouth with her sweater-covered hand and looks like something out of dream porn. Her long hair is blowing in the wind, she's shaking like a leaf and she's trying to be swallowed by her sweater. I swear that I have never loved more than I did then.

I also swear that I've never _hated _her more than I did then.

"What the fuck, Claire?! You wake me up at midnight, run away, _slap _me and then ask me if Allie-Rose's pretty? Claire, you've fucking lost it."

Claire looks as though she's been slapped and I immediately regret my words. I pull her towards me by her enormous sleeves and wrap my arms around her. This was the only thing I know how to do—that doesn't involve lip contact, a soccer ball and a basketball.

And that's when she chooses to cry. She sobs into my shirt and I just tuck her closer into my body. I have to enjoy this—no matter how fucked up or short-term this is.

-

**(Another obligatory) Author's Note: **This is riddled with thousands of mistakes but I have to post something up soon before September 1st. I know no one cares about this fic—hello bad writing skills—but I _have _to finish this or I'll consider myself obsolete. Yes, I am crazy. In other news, I have a soundtrack for this chapter! None of you care but it's played like 200+ times on my iTunes so it should be 'written'.

Don't do drugs. Don't swear. Don't be Albert Newton.


End file.
